Love turns a blind eye
by chibichibigirl
Summary: She sees the beautiful man beneath the mask, can feel the light radiating from his heart, can taste the sadness his music leaves in the air. She sees the bad too, can tell that that's blood on his hands. But she doesn't care, for her, he's been the hero since the beginning. A chapter fic about Meg and her interactions with the phantom. Starts from childhood and goes on. Meg/Phantom
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I may have the phantom singing in my head, but I don't own him!

Meg Giry was five when her mother finally decided to introduce her to the 'phantom' that she always spoke of.

In all her child like wonder Meg was a fair mix of excitement and trepidation. She didn't know what to expect with a '_phantom_.' It was both thrilling and a little scary.

The otherworldly sensation was only heightened by mother making them go well after sunset. Meg wasn't very fond of the dark, but having mothers strong hand guiding her made it better.

She kept tugging at the hood of the cloak she had been forced to dress in for this small excursion, the chill of the dead of the night biting at her nose and making it numb. Her curiosity got the better of her, she kept asking mother 'when they would get there, where it was, why so late at night, why they had to wear the cloaks.' After her mother shushed her for the fifth time to no avail she finally stopped her fast stride and turned to her daughter, leaning down to be face to face.

"Meg, please. Cease this endless flow of questions. I can't answer them."

Meg tipped her head in confusion, "Why?" Mother had always answered her questions before, she didn't see why this had to be any different.

She sighed, it condensed in the chilly night air and made a shape like a bird, meg noted absently. She gripped her shoulders, looking very sternly, but with that caring edge that was mothers norm into the little girls eyes. "Because my darling, this must all be a secret."

Meg's eyes widened, mother had always told her never to keep secrets, this was becoming more confusing by the second! "Why mother?"

"I can't tell you right now my dear, but you must understand that where we are going and whom we are going to meet must be kept from everyone with the utmost secrecy. I believe you are old enough now to be trusted with this. Do I believe correctly?"

She nods fervently. The acknowledgment of her age and trustworthiness are all but gold to her little five year old ears. "Yes mother."

The corners of her mothers mouth soften into a small smile. "Good. I'm so proud of you Meg, my big girl." She affectionately pinches her cheek-pink from the cold-and Meg giggles in response to the playfulness that is so rarely shown by her dignified mother. "Now the hour is late and I do not wish to be out on the streets for longer than necessary, we must hurry."

They start off at a quick pace, Meg's little legs moving as fast as they can to keep up with her mothers long strides.

She's getting tired, the excitement taking a back seat to her base needs. Eyes drooping despite her constant movement. Her legs are going numb from the cold now. She's just about to ask mother if they can simply go home when she suddenly stops. She bumps into her back and rubs her eye, peering up at her. "Mother?"

She turns, "We're here."

Her eyes go wide and all the sleepiness from seconds ago has evaporated. Her legs, unfortunately, have not been so easily revived. She hopes they can go inside soon.

Finally taking into account where all their walking has gotten them she notices the opera house right beside them. She brightens, perhaps they will be able to go inside after all!

The little girls hopes are dashed though, as her mother starts tugging her in the opposite direction from the grand opera house. They are headed towards the lake instead.

She looks wistfully back at the grand building, accepting that the full use of her limbs will not happen right at this moment.

"Wait here." Her mother commands, letting go of her hand for the first time since they left home.

Taking the opportunity Meg brings her hands to her face, the chubby little fingers a faint pink. However the one mother was holding hurts a little less than the other. She blows hot air on them, rubs them together to spark the feeling of life once again. She repeats this several times, looking around at the shadows surrounding her. _'I wonder what this phantom will be like.' _Finally her mother comes back.

"Mother! Where on _earth_ did you get that boat?" She asks, running to her side. She simply puts a finger to her lips and she accepts it as one of those '_secret_' things that she's old enough to keep now. Though she honestly has no idea what's even going on, much less why it has to be secret.

"Climb in now Meg, hurry, and sit down. The waters freezing and I am on very reserved terms about diving in after you."

She gets in, settles down, and soon mother climbs in too. Holding a long oar. They leave the shore with a big push, rocking the boat and Meg gasps. She's never been on a boat before, not even a small one. And she certainly has never been on a lake before. Her childish mind runs rampant with the monsters that could be lurking just beneath the surface. Just waiting to drag her to her watery grave. She keeps her hands very close to herself.

They were about halfway across the lake when the boredom of sitting completely still and compliant won over her imaginations own evil creations. She leans over ever so slightly, peeking at the glistening water below. Patches of fog are rolling around them, gliding just above the waters surface. It looks beautiful, and magical, and mysterious. A perfect setting for this '_phantom_.' She wonders briefly if they will meet him in the midst of the fog. His apparition hovering just like the fog.

She catches something moving beneath the water and she jumps back. Taking a couple of deep breaths she is not long deterred and leans forward again. More so this time, but with more caution. Her eyes are searching, ready to meet whatever they may find. Is what her little adrenaline, sleep deprived mind thinks, but truly she would be scared witless to find something lurking there, and would most likely scramble back crying to her mother.

Then she sees what frightened her before and she smiles at her silliness. It was only her reflection. Though she can't blame herself for not recognizing it before, she does look different, reflected back from the waters glassy surface.

The moonlight has lit the pale skin of her face below her eyes, making it seem like porcelain, while her green eyes remain in shadow from the cloak. She tips her head at the image, it doing the same. She tugs at her curly blonde hair, taking it all in. She feels faintly like one of those beautiful performers at the opera house, with powdered faces and gleaming eyes. She stares at herself for a little while longer, focusing on it till the ripples of their movement jumble the images. She's too young however to feel the full impact of this moment, of finally feeling beautiful.

She focuses more on the water itself now. It's dark, murky, and she wonders if its really as cold as mother said. Slowly, glancing back at her mother to make sure she was securely focused on rowing she sticks her hand out, letting the tip of her pinky break the glassy surface.

Meg pulls her hand back a bit, still a bit surprised at the biting cold the water has to it despite her mothers earlier warning. Tentatively she sticks her finger back in, still the pinky, but deeper this time. She starts to make lazy circles with her finger, enjoying the patters they make. To get a better look she starts to lean over more, "_Meg_." Her mother snaps and she flinches away from the edge of the boat, bringing her hands to her lap. "Sorry."

Unwilling to raise her mothers ire by attempting it again Meg stays where she is, absently petting her wet finger.

They finally reach the other side of the lake, by this time mother is huffing from the effort of rowing. Meg looks up at her, distantly worried. "Mother, are you ok?" She waves her off.

"Yes, but you won't be unless we hurry inside. You're shaking and the last thing I need is for you to come down with pneumonia."

Her brows scrunch down at that, until she realizes her body has broken into uncontrollable, constant shivers. She hasn't even noticed when she started. "Come now." Mother grabs her hand again, and they finally appear to be going inside!

Her happiness at a chance for heat and rest are at odds with her prickling senses, sending the hairs on the back of her neck on end. Something...just does not feel right about this place. Her intuition tells her.

Then she thinks of who they are going to see and she rolls her eyes. '_Silly, of course a phantom wouldn't live in a place bright and filled with color._' She chastises herself. Still, her nerves don't quite settle at that. Or perhaps that's the frost bite setting in.

Right as she thinks they will finally go in her mother stops her, turns her bodily and kneels down. She has the most serious expression she's seen tonight, since father left and she told her she would have to be strong. It makes her stomach do uncomfortable jumps.

"Now listen, my dear, once we enter into his lair their are a few things you must do." Her tone is dead serious and all little Meg can do to respond is nod.

Her mother doesn't acknowledge that, just moves on. "The first thing you must do, is keep your hand at the level of your eye." She demonstrates this, and Meg mirrors her.

"Like this mother?"

She nods grimly. "Yes. Next, you must never speak in his presence unless he speaks to you. Not even to ask questions." She says in response to her mouth opening, to ask if she could ask questions. "Third, do not wander from me, stay by my side for all the time we are in there."

She quickly stands up, Meg is not expected to answer or agree, simply follow. Their will be no deviations on following these instructions.

She opens the door, and a world of ominous darkness stares back at her. She gulps audibly and puts a shaky hand to the level of her eyes. Her mother merely glances down once, making sure she is complying. Then they enter the lair of the 'phantom.'

Mother picks up a lone candelabra on a table near the entrance. It does little to help with overall visibility, but it makes it possible to not trip on ones own feet. With her other hand at the level of her eyes that leaves no hand for Meg to hold.

While she's trying to be brave on the outside on the inside she's panicking. Without the firm grip of her mothers hand she feels a little like she may get absorbed in the shadows. Like one could take a fancy to her and decide to steal her away. She opts for grabbing ahold of her mothers dress, and taking what little comfort she can in that.

The place smells like must and stale air. She couldn't imagine anyone inhabiting this place; not anyone alive anyways. As they wander down a seemingly endless hall she starts to hear something. '_Shrieks, monsters, ghosts.'_ Her fear riddled brain offers.

While she would be inclined to listen to her mind on any other day for now she waves those thoughts off. Listens closer, trying to discern what they really are. It hits her suddenly, it's a melody.

As they keep walking she starts to discern individual notes here and there. They are beautiful, but make her inexplicably sad. They reach a dark staircase, plunging down. Her mother pauses, takes a deep breath. She thinks she's going to speak, remind her of the rules, or tell her to be brave. Instead she continues on and Meg briefly wishes how she would have. She doesn't feel ready for this, whatever this is, and would really like to turn around.

The only things that stop her are the fact that she doesn't want to disappoint her mother, and that she would like to hear more of that beautifully sad melody, and maybe see whoever is playing it. _'Who says it's a person?'_ That over imaginative part of her young brain queries.

She gulps and readjusts her hand to make sure it's at the level of her eyes.

The music is prominent now, louder the farther they go down. She can see light up ahead and that is a relief even if she doesn't know what's waiting for her in the next room.

They enter the huge room quietly and Meg takes it all in as they traverse the rest of the winding staircase. It's cold, not nearly as cold as outside, but lower than could be considered comfortable. _'I guess phantoms don't need heat.'_ She remarks silently in her head.

Candelabras are scattered everywhere, casting light in seemingly random places. Papers are strewn across the floor, and various portraits, instruments and dark looking toys decorate this strange room.

What is most eye catching though, is the man in the middle of the madness, fingers pounding away on an organ as if it were his sole purpose in life. He glances up for only a split second, nodding at her mother.

She blinks a few times, just to make sure he is real. Slowly she lowers her hand and uses it to pull back her hood. When she opens her green eyes again he is still there, still playing. Not some figment of her imagination then. "Are you a _phantom_?" She calls out without thinking.

He shoots her a wary glance, suddenly aware of her presence as well, though his fingers never stop eliciting that beautiful melody from the organ. "And who, might you be?"

She's startled, not only by the low rumble of his voice, but also at him speaking directly to her. Even though she asked the question. She's far more used to people deferring to her mother for questions about her. She's so young, how can she possibly be able to answer questions pertaining to herself? Even in her head the thoughts are laced with sarcasm and frustration.

She steps fully out from behind her mothers dress. Her interest overriding any fear. He's wearing a mask she notes faintly, taking a step forward to better see him. Out of her periphery she can see her mother stiffen. Though she doesn't move to stop her. "My name is Meg." Remembering her manners as an afterthought she curtsies. "It's a pleasure to meet you Monsieur."

He chuckles softly. Something in him reflexively loosening. Finally ceasing playing long enough to bow slightly to her. "It's a pleasure as well madam." She smiles brightly. No one has called her madam before! "Now, what was it you asked?"

She blinks, trying to recall-what did she ask? "Oh, well, uhh..."

"Am I a _phantom_?" He continues on, speaking over her. He steps down from the platform on which his organ rests. His fingers glide down the guard rail. "That is an interesting question." He pauses. "I'm not sure of the answer myself."

"Well, if you are, then I'm definitely not frightened of you!" She blurts out. "I was before, but now I-" she stops, noticing how silly she must sound, but his eyes are trained on her. Only her. Intense. And she can't stop now that's she's half way said it so she fumbles on. "Now I-I'm not."

He quirks his head at her. He looks interested. This honest to goodness adult actually looks interested in what she's saying. She would say it felt intoxicating if she knew anything about what intoxication felt like. "And, why, is that?" He asks slowly.

She doesn't speak for a few seconds, but finally getting ahold of herself she shakes her head a little. Clearing the cobwebs that somehow gathered there. "Because." She motions to the organ. "Anyone who can play something so...so," she tries looking for the right word, the right phrase that will describe that wonderful melody that made her mind want to reach out to whoever was playing it. To hold their hand because it was impossible to play something so sad and not be a bit melancholy yourself. Her words failed her and she settled on the stereotypical "_Beautiful_. Could never be someone bad. Even if you are a phantom."

He scoffed, however to her young mind it was the same as a small laugh. He didn't say anything else, and after a minute she started to purse her lips. She resisted the urge to rock on her heels because her mother said it was "unladylike like."

She almost thought he had forgotten about them until he turned smoothly and continued back up to the organ. "You may proceed Madame Girry."

Her mother finally speaks. "Yes Monsieur." And nods despite him not being able to see it. Then she abruptly takes hold of Meg's wrist, a firm grip and starts to lead her away from the strange, fascinating man. She faintly worries about being in trouble, about angering her mother for breaking the rules, but that is put to the back of her mind. She steals glances back at him, but he seems totally encapsulated by his work once again.

That saddens her a bit, though she can't say why.

They go to a little corner whose only inhabitants are a duster, broom and candelabra. She picks up the candelabra and releases her wrist, only long enough to hand her the broom. In the flickering shadows Meg can see the tight lines around her mothers mouth, the steely shine to her focused gaze. Yes, mother is definitely angry.

They find another corner. Strewn about are the papers, books, and odd little toys as everywhere else. Her mother sets the candelabra on a shelf and bends to start organizing the mess. "Stack up all the papers, do not throw any away. Put the books on one of the shelves in no particular order, but make sure the spine is facing towards you. You can put the toys anywhere, as long as they don't seem to be in the way. Any instruments not in a case are to be left where they are. Any questions." Her tone made it clear there were to be no questions. She shook her head and bent down to start helping. When she reached out her wrist her mother grabbed it suddenly. She looked pointedly into her eyes. "And Meg, I expect you to _follow_ these rules." Her tone could not be misread and Meg gulped, nodding. Her mother released her and they both set to work. Yes, definitely, very _angry_.

The notes once again started to bleed from the organ. Slowly at first, then crescendoing into just as intense a composition as before, if not more. Meg half did her work and half listened to the melody. Not fighting much to keep herself from falling under its spell.

It was quite a while before they finished cleaning everything up. Meg's eyes began to droop again. She rubbed furiously at them, not willing to submit to sleep just yet. Though the thought of walking all the way back home was not a pleasant one. It made her want to cry a little actually, her legs were already hurting.

Her mother addressed the phantom. "We are finished for the night Monsieur." He nodded, stopping his playing and walking down the steps again. He rummaged through his pocket and when he was before them he retracted his arm and held out a few coins to them.

"This should be enough to pay for a cab. The child looked half froze when you came in, and I'm fairly certain she would collapse and would need to be carried before she would make it home."

She tried to shake her head in the negative, but it came out so poorly that it only proved his point.

Her mothers eyes widened, she was shocked though she was trying to keep it from her face. "Ah, yes. Thank you Monsieur. Goodnight" She reached out to take the offered coins, her arm stretching out fully as he was standing barely within reach.

She lightly grabbed her shoulder and turned her. "Come on Meg. We must go home now."

She whisked her away before she could even say a goodbye to the phantom. Not that she had enough energy to protest though.

On both the boat ride and carriage trip home she stayed off the taunting promise of sleep in favor of recounting every aspect she could remember about him.

A white mask. Eyes that she couldn't quite discern the color of in the dark. Dark hair like the night, slicked back and well maintained. A pale complexion. He was dressed as a proper gentlemen. He had a low, smooth voice. He made the saddest music she'd ever heard.

This got her till she was home. Her mother, who must have been just as-if not more-tired as her set to work on getting her to bed. Dressed in her white nightgown and comfortable in her bed she started to drift off to sleep. Encouraged by her mothers fingers smoothing her hair. She was half asleep when her mother started to whisper to her and no one in particular.

"Cab fair. He gave us _cab_ fair..." Her voice faded in and out. Meg only caught small tidbits. "_Never_ before...shocking...why...my god...he...I think he actually _liked_ you Meg...don't know wether to be relieved or frightened..." She went on for a little while longer, but Meg no longer heard any of it. Hadn't heard half of it to start with. Wether or not she heard or processed her mothers words could be debated. However she still fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, with a smile on her face. Dreaming of a phantom who played beautiful melodies into the lonely night.

A/N: I finally got around to watching Love never dies and I must say I am not a fan. The only things I liked were a few of the songs, the child-his name escapes me-and Meg. And well, we all know how that turns out. If you've seen it. The last part with her is really what got me, it's the only time I actually shed tears during the whole thing and it was really heart wrenching for me. To drown out my sorrows I went to love never dies fanfiction section and found only heartbreakingly few stories! Then went to PotO section and it was the same sad sorry state! I had to remedy this, even if it means doing it myself.

I was really interested in the idea that Meg has known the Phantom since she was small, given that her mother snuggled him there in the first place. One other thing I liked about LND is the idea of the Phantom and Meg's relationship. I'm going to attempt-attempt mind you-to build that up here. It'll be slow going so be warned!

Reviews are so appreciated, as well as constructive criticism, but no flames please!

Till the next show~


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A face unseen

Disclaimer: Though I wish I could get my hands on Meg's character rights and stage a production for her that she deserves I can't. I own nothing!

Mothers usual schedule for visiting the '_phantom_' was only once every couple of weeks. Before, Meg used to think of that as inconveniently regular. She didn't like having her mother go out so late at night. No matter how well she liked the people she was staying with at the time she would always stay awake until her mother came and collected her.

Now though, the situation had changed. Meg was a bundle of expectancy. Waiting on the night where instead of readying her for bed mother would dress her in that cloak and they'd escape into the night.

After visiting the _phantom_, the masked man had taken up quite a good portion of her thoughts. The interaction they had, had been brief to say the least. But just enough for to pique her interests and lead her to conjuring up all sorts of ideas of him. He was basically a blank slate, something for her to throw an endless amount of theory's at until one stuck. He was clever. He was blunt. He was courteous. He was patient. At the moment he was anything in the world.

Obviously thinking about the phantom and thinking about her studies was hard to juggle, and Meg was inclined to go with whatever was more interesting. Which was to say, not her penmanship or embroidery.

Mother had noticed of course, mother always notices. She hadn't been particularly pleased about it either. "Meg Faustine Giry! You will get your head out of the clouds this instant!" Had been said just a touch above polite voice level. Mother didn't like to shout, and with the meaning she could put into her tone she didn't need to. When people heard it, they listened.

She desperately wanted her mother to allow her to accompany her, so she complied to the best of her abilities. She danced more though, that being the best way to clear her head of anything, not just _phantoms_. When she danced, something deep within her took over. Everything else was forced to the back of her mind as her passion ruled center stage. She supposed she'd inherited that from her mother.

About two weeks after their last visit-it was hard for her young mind to fully grasp the exact number of days-mother came into her room unannounced in the late afternoon.

Meg put down her doll and rose from her feet. "Mother?" She asked questioningly, with just a touch of hope.

She breathed in deeply, then answered in a flat tone. "I must go to see him again tonight." Her mind brightened at that, but she tried to keep it from her face. She had a suspicion that if she showed too much enthusiasm then mother wouldn't allow her to go. She chose to merely nod, not trusting the building excitement she felt to stay out of her voice.

"You will be coming with." She declared." Meg's eyes must have visibly brightened because she quickly added. "However if you disobey the rules once more you will be forbidden to accompany me again, and will receive the first swat in your life. Am I being clear?" She asked in a stern tone, clipping the edges of her words. Mother was always clear.

She nodded and when her hard stare did not relent she gave in and spoke. "Yes mother."

She gave a short nod in acknowledgment and went to fetch their cloaks.

Soon they were taking to the streets, the lamps lighting their way as before. Meg wasn't as frightened by the surrounding shadows as a couple weeks ago, but she certainly didn't fancy them.

She stays close to her mother, their gloved hands entwined tightly. Meg had been very grateful when mother had surprised her with them nary a week ago. She'd given a quick apology for not thinking of it before, and told her to take care with them.

Though her fingers were feeling worlds better than their last trip there was only so much that could be done about the rest with their limited funds. Meg knew little of finances and cared less, she was too young to worry about the value of coins or the like. However she did know that their were certain things her mother was simply unable to do, even with her indomitable will, and that spoke volumes to her in itself.

So by the time they dismounted the boat across the lake she was once again shivering. Though that was little consequence to her compared to the reward for braving these cold nights.

When mother opens the door, first checking that Meg has her hand at the level of her eyes, she is only slight offset by the shadows. She tries to make her mind singular, focusing only on the promise of seeing the '_phantom_' again that is whispering in her head.

It takes longer for her to hear the music this time, the organ not being played quite as loudly. But it's more than the volume of the piece that has changed, it's the entire style. It is light, melodic, almost happy sounding. Meg is reflexively smiling before she even thinks about it, and mother does not go unaffected as well. She hears a very soft sigh and as she looks up she sees her shoulders lose some of their rigidity and she begins to walk faster now. Meg doesn't ask though, too afraid to break whatever calm has taken over her mother.

They reach the huge room that serves as the Phantoms lair and stop at the bottom of the stairs, awaiting acknowledgment.

After a few bars he looks up, and Meg's breath catches in her chest. His eyes, the ones that were so clouded and distant before have taken on a spark of something. She can't come close to name it, but it doesn't matter. She is inexplicably happy with that look on his face. And irrationally thinks that she might have a hand in it.

"Good evening madam's." he nods curtly. Mother lowers her hand and Meg follows suit. She tries to hide her happiness at hearing his voice, tries and fails. She at least can stop herself from taking a few steps towards him, which is a relief.

He turns back to his music and mother moves then, going straight to the corner once more. Despite all their hard work the room looks like it hasn't been touched in a month. Everything is scattered about, just like before.

Just like before Meg is only half able to do the work while her mind keeps turning to the music that the phantom is playing. Despite the nip in the air it makes her feel warm.

Once they are finished mother returns all the cleaning supplies to the corner and waits by the stairs. "We are finished Monsier." He nods once more and stands, picking up something from the top of the organ and approached them.

Standing as far as possible once more-though to Meg it seems so very close-he extends his arm and reveals the coins in his palm. "Here is the cab fair."

Once again mother is seemingly caught off guard, but she is much better at disguising her feelings than her daughter, and goes on unperturbed. "Thank you Monsier. Goodnight to you.

'_No_!' Meg's mind shouts childishly. Not yet. Just as he is turning away, as she can feel mother doing the same she speaks.

"Why did tonight's piece sound so much more happy than last time?" It comes out too quickly, a little too high at the end to seem casual.

Just like mother the phantom does not faultier at her question, leaving no hints as to wether she's caught him off guard. His gaze slides to her and she belatedly realizes his eye is brown.

His mouth quirks slightly. "I was unaware of your impending visit the last time you came madam. As a gentlemen I wanted to give you a proper welcome to my world."

Her heart thuds with joy at that and she almost steps forward, almost. She's already dug her grave, she knows, but she doesn't have to lie in it, not yet. She smiles widely, her cheeks reddening.

He chuckles lowly and turns away. Mother says nothing more and sweeps her away, out of the lair. As they are traveling home Meg can feel the iciness in the air, and it's not from the chill outside.

It's hard for her to care at the moment though, she feels as if she is riding on a cloud. In her young mind she can not yet grasp lying without a purpose, lying for no reason other than to lie. So it would only make sense for his words to be true, heartfelt.

'He really does like me! I wonder what he'll play for me next?' She wonders excitedly.

As they get home mother takes her to her room. As she shuts the door she breathes deeply and all of Meg's earlier happiness has no hope of staving off the anxiousness she now feels. She has disobeyed mother twice. This does not bode well for her. She sets the candelabra on her nightstand as mother has not yet lighted the lamps.

As if hearing her thoughts she rounds on her. A stern, vaguely angry look in her blue eyes. She crosses the room in a few elegant strides and with them the rooms atmosphere gets heavier and heavier. Her hand suddenly shoots out and firmly grips her forearm, bringing her in close as she leans down to stare directly into her eyes.

"What did I tell you?" She asks lowly. Her eyes are ice, any motherly warmth gone. Meg has never seen her mother this upset with her. It's frightening. When she doesn't speak she shakes her. "_What, _did_ I, tell _you_?" _She punctuates the words, driving them in harshly.

Meg purses her lips, eyes watering without her permission. "Mother I'm sorry I-"

"That is _not_ what I am asking, now _what_ did I _**tell**_ you?" This is the closest to shouting as Meg has ever heard her and in such close range it rings in her ears.

She sobs. "Mother I don't understand. I just want to speak to him. That's all! He looks so lonely and I just want to speak to him!" The tears start to stream from her eyes and her mothers soften in turn. Her earnest reply melting the cold blue.

She loosens her grip on her arm and brings her other hand to gently cup her wet cheek. "Shhh, shhh, Meg there is no need for tears. You must simply understand that what I'm saying is for your own good."

Meg shakes her head, blonde curls flying in disarray. "But I d-don't understand, mother!" She protests between sobs.

She sighs deeply and a sad look changes her stern features into something softer. "I know. But Meg these rules I have placed are not without merit." She begins to gently brush the stands of hair that have caught on the tear streaks out of her face. "They are there to keep you safe, to keep a safe distance." She adds almost as an afterthought.

Her sobbing is calming down, but she still takes jerking breaths, making speech hard. "I-still don't-understand."

Her mother shocks her with an unprecedented hug. She is warm, unyielding. "I know." She repeats softly. "And I hope to god you'll never come to see why." She sends it up like a prayer, and Meg is so utterly lost she can't form a reply to that.

It's ironic though, that very soon Meg would come to see why with her own two eyes. She will learn that with every beauty there is a beast, and sometimes they reside in the same person.

A/N: Just a heads up that no two sided romance stuff will happen until Meg is around the 16-18 and above range.

Though a few hints and tidbits might be thrown in every now and then.

Yes I'm aware that this chapter was mostly set up for the next, but I just wanted to introduce some stuff in this chapter. I wanted to build up Meg's character a little. Really work on her personality!

The Meg I'm trying to work towards is almost a single minded girl at this point in her life. Has so much passion for things, but can only direct it towards one thing at a time! She is caring, considerate, but also a child. So that means that sometimes those things get thrown out to make way for her own selfishness.

I'll add more to her later, build her up and add to her and emphasize quirks in her personality with every chapter. Or at least give it one heck of a try.

Even though that's a while down the road this story is planned to follow the canon events of "Phantom of the Opera" with my little twists here and there. But you know what they say, plans change.

I would love some input on how I'm doing, especially pace wise! Constructive criticism is welcome, but no flames please!

Until next time~


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three: A face revealed

Disclaimer: If I owned anything to do with PotO there never would have been a love never dies. But there is. So I own nothing.

Meg didn't feel _comfortable_ in the '_Phantoms_' lair by any means, but nor was she afraid of it at this point. Having visited the '_Phantom_' for over a month now she wasn't convinced that their weren't dark things lurking in the shadows; just that they had no interest in her.

However as they enter the hallway one thing was different that offset that entirely. Usually they would have to wander down the hallway a bit before hearing the beautiful music the '_Phantom_' seemed to always be enraptured in playing.

On this night however once they open the door they can hear a chaotic melody being beaten from the organ that the '_Phantom_' had heretofore only treated to intimate caresses.

It makes mother freeze. Inhale sharply. Stay still as a statue for a few moments. Meg looks up questioningly, and instantly tenses at seeing her mothers expression. Her lips are pursed, brows furrowed. She looks down at her suddenly, not saying anything, simply staring for a few seconds; debating. Her heart beat accelerates uncomfortably at that look.

Taking a deep breath mother seems to decide on something, lowering her hand from the level of her eyes she grasps her smaller, more delicate one. Meg's eyes widen as she glances at their entwined hands and then mothers face. She wasn't looking at her any longer, her gaze now focused determinedly on a point ahead of them in the darkness. She starts at a brisk walk, and if the iron grip on her hand wasn't still there Meg would have thought that nothing had happened at all.

But something _had_ happened. Mother was breaking her own rules by taking her hand from her face to hold her own. Which was more frightening than comforting. She was many things, but no hypocrite. When she set down a rule she made an example to adhere to it more strictly than anyone. Something was very wrong.

Meg shrinks closer to her, eyeing the shadows warily. They dance in the candlelight around her, constantly changing patters on the weathered walls. With the music growing louder as they approach it made for a stifling atmosphere. When they reach the staircase that will lead them down to His lair Meg, for the first time, doesn't want to go, for fear of what they would be descending into.

But blessed mother felt the hesitation in her hand as she took the first step and turned to her. Her face was as composed as always on the surface, but she can see a heightened edge beneath. Only the sureness in her voice made it possible to keep moving on her shaky legs. "Meg, I will not let any harm come to you."

She had turned around before Meg could nod in acknowledgment, but that was alright. If mother was here she would be fine. She hoped.

As the room came into view Meg notices that it looks more of a disaster than usual. Not only was there the usual chaos of scattered books, papers, toys and instruments, but most of the sparse furniture in it was overturned and moved far from their usual places.

Meg's eyes search through everything, before finally landing on the man who had done all this. He looks impeccable as ever, out of place in these drab settings. But the music he was forcing from that poor organ told more of his state than his appearance. Meg was fairly certain with the way he was slamming down on the keys either something in the organ would break, or his fingers would snap. Whichever it was, _something_ had to give under that amount of force.

Mother didn't even pause at the bottom of the stairs and Meg was rather glad that they didn't have to be called to His attention at this moment. Straight for the corner as usual, which had been untouched.

She was gathering up the papers and glancing back at him simultaneously. More worried for his sake at the moment. He stopped playing abruptly, grabbing a pen and scribbling furiously onto a sheet of half finished music. Grunting with each completed bar. Discarding them just as fast he returned to slamming on the keys once more. Forcing painfully low, angry sounds from the organ.

Meg looks back at her mother, who was preoccupied with actually doing their task. She began in a low, worried voice "Mother, what is-"

She gave a sharp shake of the head, only looking up for a second from her work to send the message that she was not to talk. Meg heard the unspoken words and closed her lips tightly.

She didn't know what was happening, why he was acting like this. She was worried; she was worried, but she was also scared.

To emphasize that point the 'Phantom' ceases his playing and sweeps all the papers on the abused organ to the floor in one motion, accompanied by a feral noise deep in his throat. They flutter about him and Meg's vaguely distressed at the idea of having to get in such close proximity to him to clean that up.

He was gasping hard, as if he had been running or shouting. Placing his arms on either side of him on the organ. He turns his head around without warning, staring dead at her.

She froze, her gaze pinned down by his. Her heartbeat climbs to her throat at the fierceness in his eyes, she works to swallow around it. "What is it, Meg? You look like a cornered cat." He turns his whole body to face her and giving a quick glance at her mother Meg's mind began to panic.

Mother gives her the barest of nods. Telling her silently to answer. Meg should look at him in the eyes, she knows that, but can't quite find the courage it would take to do so. She starts to sweat. How is she to answer him? What is the correct thing to say? Her frantic mind supplies the only thing that seems doable at the moment; the truth. "I'm frightened Monsieur ."

"And why, is that?" He paces his answer out, watching her intently.

"Because..." 'Don't look at mother. Don't look at mother.' She chants to herself, because for whatever reason she feels he won't like that. "You...you are acting, _differently_." As well as a man possessed, a man gone insane, an animal, but she doesn't voice those.

He takes a step down. "And what's wrong with that, Meg? People act differently all the time. Why is me acting differently frightening to you?"

"Ah, well..." Her tongue sticks in her mouth, unable to form anything. She swallows hard and pushes on. "I am just not used to seeing this side of you?" It comes out as a question and she prays he won't take offense to that.

He scoffs. "Not many are." He half turns back to his organ and for one glorious moment she thinks he will move on from her. Then he speaks and shatters her thin hope. "Come here Meg." It is not a question, it is an order.

Meg glances at her mother again, hoping she will have have an answer to fix this, but only sees her mothers panicked expression. She tries to conceal as fast as she realizes Meg is looking at her, but Meg has already seen it.

She's never seen that expression before and it frightens her into a decision. She's a big girl now, if mother can't be strong, then she will be strong _for_ her. As gracefully as possible she lifts herself up and wipes off both the literal and figurative dust from her dress and cloak. She marches towards him with her head held high, despite the urge to run away and cry that has built up in her.

He motions for her to take a seat on the bench and she complies. Choosing the side farthest from him. He sits as far on the other side as he can.

He presses a single finger down on a key, something she vaguely knows to be a C. "What do you think of being different Meg?" He's not looking at her and that makes thinking easier, but she still doesn't know how to answer.

"Forgive me, but, I don't, _understand_?"

He plays another note. Higher. "Being different; standing out from other people, not being able to fit in."

Her brows furrow and she purses her lips. Contemplating this on the white of the keys. "Well, I think it must be very hard." It's the truth, the first thing that comes to her mind. She has never thought much on being different or it's consequences. However thinking of it now, that is her conclusion.

"Ha!" He laughs only once, but the bitterness in it resounds in the room. "That, is very true." He plays two more notes. "It's very hard to be different." Ping. "It can weigh on you more than you could know." Ping. Ping.

"So very hard to be different. Makes the heart yearn for obscurity. _Yes so very hard to be different_." The last words are spoken as more of a verse than a sentence. He begins to play more notes.

_"Isolates you from any that could've been dear. Makes them reject you, turn you away in foolish fear." _The notes are beginning to resemble a rhythm more and more and Meg's face fills with surprise as he is slowly composing a song before her. Though she is sure he's completely forgotten her existence at this point, and rather than answering her he is musing aloud to himself.

_"Steals light, replaces it with revile and fright. Pours consoling prize in the concealing shadows of the night." _He is using both hands now. His words are drawn out and mellow, resigned. _ "It hides the genius that could have been. Makes you want to repent though you've committed no sin. You beg and plead, but still are cursed. Ask God to change this, make it all reversed." _His voice is gaining emotion, almost trembling at first. Meg watches and feels her heart ache. Even if she can't truly comprehend all of this she can still feel the pain radiating from it.

_"Get spit on, abused, made a show of in return. The stares of shock, the sneers of horror, I can still feel them burn." _He snarls the last part, and he's making his way to lower keys on the organ. She scoots father to the edge to avoid brushing his arm.

_"Those taunts they throw, they think themselves so clever. If only they knew, how easily their tongues I could sever." _He growls that out and Meg can feel the fear trickling back into her brain. Self preservation kicking back in. She scoots as far off to the side of the bench as she can.

"_Oh their faces I can see, so pitiful. Begging mercy though they gave none to me, how laughable!_"

He rears up without warning and Meg involuntarily screams and falls from the bench. He is no longer playing, but pounding on the keys. Creating painful chords. He's yelling something, but it's so rushed and distorted with rage she can't understand. She merely watches as he turns his fury to the bench and throws it on it's side. He marches down the steps and kicks books, papers, furniture, toys; not discriminating from anything in his path.

She stays on the floor till she feels two strong arms encircle her middle. It's her mother, it has to be, no one else is here. Even as she physically carries her out Meg can't take her eyes from the raging '_Phantom_.' Who's only purpose now seems to destroy and cause the pain that is screaming to get out of his heart.

When they reach the streets mother lets her down, but her grip on her hand is iron. She walks so fast that Meg has as much control as when she was still being carried. But her mind is racing even faster than her feet. She can't get that pained expression out of her head. Can't get the whispers of his haunted voice to disappear.

When they get home mother takes her to her room immediately. She lights the lamps and sinks down to her level, holding her at arms length. Her face turns horrified as she looks at her and Meg is very confused. "Oh, my _darling_. _Please_ forgive me, I never wanted you to be witness to that! Please don't cry." She looks at her confusedly and brushes her cheek with her fingers. They come away wet and she tries to pinpoint when it is she started to cry.

"It'll be alright Meg, I won't ever make you go near him again." A pang of fear strikes her hard. Meg's eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"_No_, mother! Please that's not what I want!" Her mothers brows furrow in confusion.

"Meg, what do you mean?"

She sniffs, wipes at her eyes with the palm of her hand. "I-I'm not _afraid_ of him."

Her mother shakes her head and lifts her onto the softness of her bed and sits down next to her. Gently taking her cold hand in hers her mother looks at her. Really looks at her, like she's a proper person and not just her little baby. "Explain."

She doesn't know why everyone seems to be treating her as an adult lately, but she's growing fond of it. Except the part where she has to decide what's going on in her frazzled mind.

She purses her lips and looks away for a moment. 'Why aren't I afraid?' She goes over the night again. Thinks back to his violent outburst, which, she's going to be honest, was truly terrifying. She was scared, but mother had been there, and everything was alright. 'If mother hadn't...if mother hadn't...Something _clicks_ in her brain just then, making the fog surrounding the 'Phantom' a little bit clearer.

"Does he have a mother?"

Her mother slowly shakes her head.

"Does he have, any, friends?"

Once again she shakes her head.

"He's all alone there, all the time." She already knows its true when she asks it, but her mothers condemning nod solidifies her theory.

She nods absentmindedly. "Then, that is why I'm not afraid of him. Not that his outburst wasn't frightening, but...it's that he's...I think he's just, _lonely_."

She looks at her mother dead in the eye and smiles. "And I want to let him know, he's not alone anymore."

Her mother stares at her in shock for a few beats. Then smiles in a way that looks like she's fighting back tears. This time Meg expects her to hug her, but she doesn't. She gives her hand a meaningful squeeze and cups her cheek. "Oh Meg. My beautiful girl. My _beautiful_, _beautiful_ girl."

Meg feels a swell of pleasure warming her insides at the pride and emotion in her mothers voice. She knows she's made the right decision. After all, it's the only one that made sense to her heart, and how could ones heart lead one astray?

A/N: Hey guys!

I just had to put in one of the different sides to the phantom. He's not all mystery and magic, he's malice too.

Some of you may find it odd that Meg isn't more frightened of him at this point, having an outburst like that. However this is important, it's where it all starts. The justifications, excuses, downright blindness to what he's doing and the wrongness of it.

In her young mind it makes sense that he would react that way without a mother or any friends. He's lonely and because of that it's ok. If she can just let him no he's not alone then of course he will change! Be happier, better!

Naive, naive, naive. But hey, give her a break, she's five!

Also that was a song. Written by me. *Hides* I know, I know, it sucked. Please forgive me?

I hope everyone enjoys! Constructive criticism is welcome, but no flames please!


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